10,000 Steps
by ariescelestial
Summary: When Penelo's brothers left for battle, they claimed that ten thousand feet would pound out their tales. But as far as Penelo can see, she's the only one dancing.


She is fifteen when she first taps on the wooden shoes, makes sure they are on properly. They are the only part of her mother's costume that actually fits: the pants must be hitched up and laced tightly to keep the red fabric around her slim hips, and the top was tailored to draw attention to breasts that are not fully developed yet.

She is not particularly concerned about the fit of the clothing; it is the tradition that matters.

* * *

The performances her mother gave were beautiful. Precise footwork and graceful gestures were joined with words as a singer--who could be a woman or man, even a child if appropriate--told the exploits of hardy adventurers, the tragedies of kings and queens past, or the horrors of the restless spirits who still wandered the earth. The light notes of a flute wafted in and out and the drum would strike to set hearts a-flutter, like a stone cast at a flock of birds.

Penelo knows that her dances are pathetic in comparison. Even if she had her mother's knowledge and experience, there is no stage to dance on, no instruments to accompany her, and though some sing, their voices are always soft, soft, for fear that they will carry and be heard by the wrong people.

She has her body and a scarf to tell her part of the story. She must hope that the others remember enough to fill in the rest.

* * *

When her brothers left, they had claimed their tales would be pounded out by ten thousand feet. It was a boast common enough from those who would be heroes. Their mother had only said, dryly, that their tale would be told by ten thousand if there was a one left to tell it. Penelo hadn't known what she meant then--but now she does, because to dance and sing and proclaim the glory of Dalmasca is to be an insurgent.

* * *

The dance is not just for those who watch it; it is also for those whose tales are being sung.

There is a reason that so many of the songs begin with the words: "We remember". To commemorate the great deeds of the hero in dance is to keep him in the people's hearts.

'We remember', and what goes unspoken is the prayer, the plea to the dead: _we remember you and you live on in us, so do not linger. Let yourself be embraced in the Mother's bosom, because the memory of your life will be shown to the children and its legacy will guide their lives, and their children's lives, and you will live for as long as your people do. Be at peace_.

* * *

There is little glory in dying of an infected wound, the air choked with blood and pus and decay. Nor is there anything noble in a failed attempt at a last stand, the defense crumpling like a yearling chocobo beneath a seeq. And there is nothing heroic in being an unwitting accomplice to a king-slayer. 

But Penelo still struggles to find the steps and gestures that will tell these stories. Because while her brothers and Vaan's brother may not have won wars or conquered nations or saved entire peoples, like the heroes of old--they were still heroes, with the courage of Belias.

And if she does not dance for them, no one will.

* * *

Penelo feels like her steps have grown lighter since she met Larsa. He is only a boy, yes, and he seems rather sheltered, and she is not sure if for all his cleverness he will actually leave his mark on the world--he looks far too gentle to be that forceful.

But even still, he is a ray of hope, because he wants peace. Not his brother's false peace, where Dalmasca would simply submit to Archades' rule, but cooperation between the two nations. It cheers her to know that even among Archadian nobility, there is some sympathy for the common people.

And (though she would never tell him this), ever since meeting him, she has had a dream of a day in the future when she will dance as her mother did: openly, on a stage, in front of hundreds. The singer will briefly describe the background of the piece, and as they speak the flute will begin, soft but growing louder, stronger. And when the first drumbeat sound and her feet begin the furious pounding that so often describes the march of soldiers, her partner--her dark-haired, fair-skinned, _Archadian_ partner--will come to her side. And together, they will tell the story of how a great war between countries gave way to an even greater peace.


End file.
